Chapter 38 - The Plant Hunters by Mayne Reid

Caspar in the Cleft.

Caspar breathed freely. He had need; for the peril he had passed, and the rushing backward and forward, and springing over the rocks, had quite taken away his breath. He could not have lasted another minute.

The bull, thus balked of his revenge, seemed to become more furious than ever. He rushed to and fro, uttering savage grunts, and at intervals dashing his horns against the rocks, as if he hoped to break them to pieces, and open a passage to his intended victim. Once he charged with such fury that his head entered the cleft till his steaming snout almost touched Caspar where he lay. Fortunately, the thick hairy shoulders of the bull hindered him from advancing farther; and in drawing back his head, he found that he had wedged himself; and it was with some difficulty that he succeeded in detaching his horns from the rock!

Caspar took advantage of his struggles; and seizing a stone that lay near at hand, he mauled the bull so severely about the snout, that the brute was fain to get his head clear again; and although he still stood madly pawing by the outside of the cleft, he took care not to repeat his rude assault.

Caspar now seeing that he was safe from any immediate danger, began to feel uneasiness about his broken limb. He knew not how long he might be detained there—for it was evident that the yak was implacable, and would not leave him while he could keep his eyes upon him. It is the nature of these animals to hold their resentment so long as the object of their vengeance is in sight. Only when that is hidden from them, do they seem to forget—for it is probable they never forgive.

The bull showed no signs of leaving the ground. On the contrary, he paced backward and forward, grunting as fiercely as ever, and at intervals making a rush towards the entrance as if he still had hopes of reaching his victim.

Caspar now regarded these demonstrations with indifference, he was far more concerned about his limb; and as soon as he could turn himself into a proper position, he began to examine it.

He felt the bone carefully from the knee downward. He knew the thigh was safe enough. It was his ankle-joint, he feared, was broken. The ankle was already swollen and black—badly swollen, but Caspar could detect no evidence of a fracture of the bones.

“After all,” soliloquised he, “it may be only sprained. If so, it will be all right yet.”

He continued to examine it, until he at length arrived at the conviction that it was “only a sprain.”

This brought him into good spirits again, though the leg was very painful; but Caspar was a boy who could bear pain very stoically.

He now began to ponder upon his situation. How was he to be rescued from his fierce besieger? Would Karl and Ossaroo hear him if he were to shout? That was doubtful enough. He could not be much less than a mile from them; and there were woods and rough ground between him and them. They might be chopping, too, and would not hear his calls. Still, they would not always be chopping, and he could keep up a constant shouting till they did hear him. He had already noticed that in the valley, shut in on all sides as it was by cliffs, sounds were transmitted to a great distance—in fact, the cliffs seem to act as conductors somewhat after the manner of a whispering-gallery. No doubt, then, Karl and Ossaroo would hear him—especially if he gave one of his shrill whistles; for Caspar knew how to whistle very loudly, and he had often made the Bavarian hills ring again.

He was about to make the Himalayas ring, and had already placed his fingers to his lips, when the thought occurred to him that it would be wrong to do so.

“No,” said he, after reflecting a moment, “I shall not call them. My whistle would bring Karl, I know. He would come running at the signal. I might not be able to stop him till he had got quite up to the rocks here, and then the bull! No—Karl’s life might be sacrificed instead of mine. I shall not whistle.”

With these reflections, he removed his fingers from his lips, and remained silent.

“If I only had my gun,” thought he, after a pause,—“if I only had my gun, I’d soon settle matters with you, you ugly brute! You may thank your stars I have dropped it.”

The gun had escaped from Caspar’s hands as he fell upon his face on first rushing down from the rock. It was no doubt lying near the spot where he had fallen, but he was not sure where it had been flung to.

“If it was not for this ankle,” he continued, “I’d chance a rush for it yet. Oh! if I could only get the gun here; how I’d fix the old grunter off, before he could whisk that tail of his twice—that I would.”

“Stay!” continued the hunter, after some minutes’ pause, “my foot seems to get well. It’s badly swollen, but the pain’s not much. It’s only a sprain! Hurrah!—it’s only a sprain! By thunder! I’ll try to get the gun.”

With this resolve, Caspar raised himself to a standing attitude, holding by the rocks on both sides.

The lane between them just gave him room enough to move his body along; and the cleft being of a uniform width from side to side, he could get out on either side he might choose.

But, strange to relate, the old bull, whenever he saw the hunter move towards the opposite side, rushed round to the same, and stood prepared to receive him upon his horns!

This piece of cunning, on the part of his antagonist, was quite unexpected by Caspar. He had hoped he would be able to make a sally from one side of the rock while his adversary guarded the other; but he now saw that the animal was as cunning as himself. It was but a few yards round from one side to the other, and it would be easy for the bull to overtake him, if he only ventured six feet from the entrance.

He made one attempt as a sort of feint or trial; but was driven back again into the crevice almost at the point of his antagonist’s horns.

The result was, that the yak, now suspecting some design, watched his victim more closely, never for a moment taking his eyes off him.

But withal Caspar had gained one advantage from the little sally he had made. He had seen the gun where it lay, and had calculated the distance it was off. Could he only obtain thirty seconds of time, he felt certain he might secure the weapon; and his thoughts were now bent on some plan to gain this time.

All at once a plan was suggested to him, and he resolved to make trial of it.

The yak habitually stood with his head close up to the crevice—the froth dropping from his mouth, his eyes rolling fiercely, and his head lowered almost to the earth.

Caspar could have thrust his head with a spear—if he had been armed with one—or he could even have belaboured it with a cudgel.

“Is there no way,” thought he, “that I can blind the brute? Ha! By thunder, I have it!” exclaimed he, hitting upon an idea that seemed to promise the desired result.

As quick as thought he lifted over his head his powder-horn and belt; and, then stripping off his jacket, took the latter in both hands, held it spread out as wide as the space would permit. He now approached the edge of the cleft in hopes of being able to fling the jacket over the horns of the bull, and, by thus blinding him, get time to make a rush for his gun. The idea was a good one; but, alas! it failed in the execution. Caspar’s arms were confined between the boulders, and he was unable to fling the jacket adroitly. It readied the frontlet of the bull; but the latter, with a disdainful toss of his head, flung it to one side, and stood fronting his adversary, as watchful of his movements as ever.

Caspar’s heart sunk at the failure of his scheme, and he retreated despairingly back into the cleft.

“I shall have to call Karl and Ossaroo in the end,” thought he. “No! not yet!—not yet! Another plan! I’ll manage it yet, by thunder!”

What was Caspar’s new plan? We shall soon see. He was not long in putting it to the test. A youth quick in action was Caspar.

He seized his huge powder-horn, and took out the stopper. Once more he crept forward towards the bull, and as near the snout of the latter as it was safe for him to go. Holding the horn by its thick end, and reaching far out, he poured upon the levellest and driest spot a large quantity of powder; and, then drawing the horn gradually nearer, he laid a train for several feet inward.

Little did the grunting yak know the surprise that awaited him.

Caspar now took out his flint, steel, and touch-paper, and in a moment more struck a fire, and touched off the train.

As he had calculated, the exploding powder flashed outward and upward, taking the bull by surprise with the sudden shock, at the same time that it enveloped him in its thick sulphury smoke. The animal was heard routing and plunging about, not knowing which way to run.

This was the moment for Caspar; who, having already prepared himself for the rush, sprang suddenly forth, and ran towards his gun.

With eagerness he grasped the weapon; and, forgetting all about his sprained ankle, ran back with the speed of a deer. Even then, he was not a moment too soon in reaching his retreat; for the bull, having recovered from his surprise, saw and pursued him, and once more sent his horns crashing against the rocks.

“Now,” said Caspar, addressing his fierce besieger, and speaking with a confidence he had not hitherto felt, “that time you were more scared than hurt; but the next time I burn powder, the case will be rather different, I fancy. Stand where you are, old boy. Another minute allow me! and I’ll raise this siege, without giving you either terms or quarter.”

As Caspar continued to talk in this way, he busied himself in loading his gun. He loaded both barrels—though one would have been sufficient; for the first shot did the business clear as a whistle. It tumbled the old bull off his legs, and put an end to his grunting at once and for ever!

Caspar now came forth from the cleft; and, placing his fingers to his lips, caused the valley to ring with his loud whistle. A similar whistle came pealing back through the woods; and, in fifteen minutes’ time, Karl and Ossaroo were seen running forward to the spot; and soon after had heard the particulars of Caspar’s adventure, and were congratulating him on his escape.

The yaks were skinned and quartered, and then carried home to the hut. The young bull, that had been wounded, also turned up close at hand; and was finished by the spear of Ossaroo. Of course, he too was skinned and quartered, and carried home; but all this labour was performed by Karl and Ossaroo; for Caspar’s ankle had got so much worse, that he had himself to be carried to the hut on the backs of Ossaroo and his brother.